


stand up now and face the sun

by queenofthestarrrs



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Injury Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthestarrrs/pseuds/queenofthestarrrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton got hit on the head a lot harder than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stand up now and face the sun

"Mmmrph."

He woke up with Kate laying next him, and Lucky laying right on top of him.. Her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. Black tendrils fell across blue eyes and across the ratty pillow. Lucky remained perfectly still, his body a comfortable and warm weight on Clint’s chest. An empty paper Starbucks cup sat next to her overtly expensive handbag on his scratched end table. The bright light of the sun rising over Brooklyn streamed into the room, illuminating her pale features and the purple comforter he bought in the kid’s section of Wal-Mart. He could practically taste the instant coffee and greasy pizza whose smell was waifing in from the kitchen.

Other than the throbbing pain between his eyes and the fact that he couldn’t hear shit, this was pretty much the best way to wake up as far as Clint Barton standards go.

"Mmmmmrph," she repeated.

He stared at her blankly.

She rolled her eyes and peeled herself out of the bed. Her shirt rode up as she pulled herself into an upright position. For a short glorious moment, a small patch of pale skin was exposed in the space above her hip. She must have caught him staring at her and flicked him on the top of his head as an embarrassed flush rose up her neck.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. Pain and light bloomed in equal measures. Everything seemed liked it was on fire. Damn, it must have been one good hit to the head if he was still feeling it one...? No, definitely three, or was it...? Two, two days ago. He got hit in the head exactly two days ago. He thinks. Maybe.

When he opened his eyes again, Kate was standing in the doorway. Lucky was nuzzling into her leg, and she absentmindedly scratched him behind his ears. Clint rolled over towards the edge of the bed, or at least tried to. It ended in more awkward flailing than actually movement. His ribcage connected with something small and hard. Pain hit his left side, and he was left wheezing. Kate just shaked her head. He groped around to find the source of his pain, careful not to touch his torso. He produced a small purple case and held it up to the light.

Kate held up a perfectly manicured finger and tapped her ear. The silver hoop hanging out of it dangled. Sunlight bounced off of it, and it splashed across the walls. Clint shook his head and shrugged.

“These aren’t mine,” was what he meant to say, but based on the look Kate was giving him it probably sounded more like, “Thesh arensh meeane.”

Kate rummaged through her bag and collapsed on the bed again. More things came popping out of her purse than he thought was humanly possible to put into a bag. She tossed things out left and right, including:

two tubes of lipstick, one in purple and the other in violet, (Good choice.)  
a movie stub, (A gross chick flick that he definitely would have watched with her.)  
like, four different types of tampons, (Does this girl bleed on a daily basis? Oh wait...)  
headphones that cost more than entire his closet put together, (She calls his wardrobe “shabby chic bordering on just sad.”)  
a notepad filled with phone numbers but no names, (Katie-Kate and a boy kissing in a tree? Clint is possibly j-e-a-l-o-u-s?)  
and a pack of condoms. (Katie-Kate!)

Finally, she pulled out her cell phone, the newest model of Stark phone, which probably cost more than his first (and only, but that’s not important right now) car. She tapped on it furiously on it before she handed it to him.

_They’re your new hearing aids._

He shakes his head and clumsily taps out his own response.

_Wat hapned 2 my old 1s? ???_

Kate smiled in spite of herself, and her fingers are a blur of movement.

_Jesus, Clint, you text like an old man._

Clint shrugged and typed back to her.

_am a old man._

Kate’s eyes softened in sunlight. She reached her hand out, its small form hovering a few inches from bandaged arm. It hovered there for a few moments before she hastily grabbed the phone out of his hand. She tapped out one last message before tossing the phone onto the bed and leaving. Lucky trailed after her, black nose resting on the back of her knee. Little traitor.

_Put them in. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Called for pizza while you were out. Pepperoni._

Clint carefully weighed the case in his palm. He slipped the devices into his ear and flicked the switch.

Everything people took advantage of, all the background noise of the city, came rushing back. And Clint absolutely loved it. He loved the sound of fights in the streets, police sirens, car horns, and lost tourists panicking in an attempt to get back to Williamsburg. Lucky was barking in the living room while a re-run of Dog Cops blared on the TV. Kate’s voice rose soft and melodic over the noise.

“Who was that?” He asked as Kate put her phone on the counter he stumbled into the other room. He collapsed onto the couch. Lucky leaped up next to him, using Clint’s ribcage as a stepping stool. Pain burst, and Clint moaned.

“Steve,” responded Kate. She was rummaging through the cabinets looking for a pair mugs. The sound of chipped porcelain mugs clinking against each others filled the room.

“Steve who?” Clint asked. His fingers absentmindedly made little circles on Lucky’s head.

“What is this, a knock-knock joke?” Kate thrusted a purple mug filled with warm coffee into his hands. She scooted next to him. “Steve Rogers.”

Clint wrinkled his nose.

“Since when are you and Captain America on first name basis?”

Kate shrugged. “Since he was nice enough to wake up at three in the morning to make sure you didn’t fall into a coma, I guess.”

“But,” Clint took a sip of his coffee and strained to look at the clock, “it’s eight at night.”

Kate shook her head. “It isn’t in Ethiopia.”

Clint put his mug down onto the ring stained coffee table. “Why is he in Ethiopia?”

“I don’t know, probably some secret mission or something. He, Natasha, Bucky-”

Clint chuckled. “You always do that when you say Bucky, that little sigh thing. Like ahhh Bucky. Nothing like a bionic, formerly evil, ninety year old hunk of man to get the blood flowing.”

Kate flicked his head again and continued with her story. “As I was saying, he, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, and Bruce went to Ethiopia. Tony Stark and his girlfriend are vacationing in the Caribbean. Pietro and Wanda are in Israel-”

“Did Pietro suddenly find the faith? Is he even Jewish?” Clint took another sip of his coffee.

“They’re ethnically Jewish. Or at least I think they think they are. They got some tip that their long lost biological father is either there or in Westchester.”

“So,” Clint asked, “they would have rather gone to a foreign country than go upstate and check there first?”

Kate gave him a look. “Whatever. We’re the only Avengers that are left in New York. So that means the city is in deep shit."

"Lies," Clint clicked the volume down on the TV. "You're only like half of an Avenger."

Kate rolled her eyes dramatically and opened the pizza box. "I'm practically an Avenger."

She bounced on to the couch with him, pepperoni slice dripping grease down in her arm. Her head somehow found the crook of his neck. Her bun tickled at his nose. Her hoops bit into the still tender skin of his bruised arm. It was horribly uncomfortable, but he would never imagine moving.

But before he realized it, the collar of his shirt was soaked with tears.

He reached out a calloused finger and wiped her eye. His fingers came back slick and mascara black. She sniffled quietly.

"Listen, Katie-Kate," he started off. He traced small patterns in her shoulder. "You're on of the most talented archer I've ever met. So you should just ignore the Avengers comment-."

"S'not that." Kate gripped his shirt tightly. "You almost died. They thought you had brain damage."

Clint shook his head. "It's been, like, forty eight hours."

She sniffled more. Lucky curled up at her feet. His whimpers were matched in time with hers.

"It's been over a week, Clint." Kate shouted indignantly. "You checked yourself out of the hospital forty eight hours ago. You've been in and out of consciousness for the last day."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Clint pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. She smelled like his soap and Michael Kors perfume and pizza and home. She cradled his neck, free hand resting on his chest. He could go on with this forever.

"I'm right here," he whispered quietly. He met her puffy eyes and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

She offered him a small smile of her own. "Not without me, Hawkeye."


End file.
